"You wouldn't happen to be the mystery man Blowjob here was telling us about earlier, would you? Because if you would, that would be fucking GREAT."
Ibiza narrowed his navy eyes into derisive slits, his tail flicking in contempt. The little Furfrou prick looked
like he was on the up and up. Judging by the look of sheer, dumb disbelief crossing his face, and the fact just moments before he was giving Ibiza a scrutinizing eye...well, he may have been talking about Ibiza himself. I've been classified as a mystery man before. Fuck my life.
Before Ibiza could open his mouth to deny the claim, Lancelot wildly interjected."No, no 'mystery man' here!"
Ibiza relaxed. "For he is a Glaceon! In my time as a riveting Show Dog, I have learned of many types of Pokemon! And these are Ice types!"
He pranced over towards the Pokemon in question, glaringly aware of the disdainful eyes on him. However, Lancelot was grateful for the strangers timely arrival-in any case, he could use him as a distraction to save his own skin. He just had to safely play around with reactions and see what course of action was best for him to take. So far, fighting back just ignited an uproar, while laying low still initiated harmful, yet non-physical, snark. Either way, Lancelot was recieving the brute end of things, so he was confused, his emotions a haphazard rollercoaster and his focus practically nonexistant.
He prodded at Ibiza like a sculpture exhibit. "Ice types cannot swim, therefore, there is no plausible way for him to give me a ride. There is also no theoretical--""Did I give you permission to touch me?"
chided the Glaceon, swiftly rising to his paws and shaking Lancelot off like a flea."Dude, we're super tired. If you wanna fight, come over here and let's get it over with. If not, shut up and come over here anyway so we can stop yelling."
From his distance, Ibiza acknowledged that the fossil Pokemon was whispering something urgently to the Raichu. Unlike Lancelot, he wasn't the least bit curious as to the context of the conversation."How long have you been lurking here, creepy?""Not long. I'll explain in due time."
As he made his way towards the group, Ibiza's tail, (on purpose or not, Lancelot wasn't sure), struck Lancelot on the muzzle, making him produce a small whine. This shell-shocked him, and he now stood stagnant, his eyes distant as he watched Ibiza's introduction unfold. He wasn't sure what to feel, what to do, because it was all wrong...His only hope was for Ibiza to be villianous, and him come up as a hero.
Like that would happen.
His face void of any expression, Ibiza began in a cold, even tone, "Hey now, I don't want to fight. I mean, I do, but not against you all. I don't have a bone to pick with you yet. Barring one of you,"
Ibiza paused to glare over his shoulder at the Furfrou, of whom chose to remain silent despite the retorts clawing at his brain. Ibiza acknowledged that he was still absentmindedly rubbing his nose from the whiplash, and the smallest of half-grins crept up his lips. As he did so, his ears perked up slightly--allowing Lancelot to catch a glimpse of the dark blue bolt over his left eye.
The Furfrou's own ears perked in astonishment. It couldn't be, could it? Peculiar markings, bright, wintery colors...no, it had to be!
The shiny Glaceon had already turned around and began mingling with the group. "I've been living here for a while, but I prefer to be alone. I know you cannot at the moment, due to the storm--but I would like to ask you to leave as soon as safely possible. Until then, the little accomodations I have are extended to you. Unless you're a righteous prick...I'm sure you know who I'm referen-""Excuse me for interupting, but I'd like to inform you of something,"
nosed Lancelot, inviting himself into the conversation. Ibiza gave an irritated huff, ignoring the canine."Anyways, you're free to stay as long as you need, I j--""I know you--""-AND-"
cried Ibiza, desperately increasing the volume of his voice to drown out the Furfrou's spiel. He knew what was coming. It had happened so many times before. He held his breath and braced himself for the Furfrou's interjection. "-YOU'RE IBIZA, right? Forgive me if the pronunciation is incorrect. You were a special guest at one of the shows I had won once, don't you recall?"
The Furfrou extended his arm to pat his back like old friends, but Ibiza snarled before he made contact, "come any closer and you'll draw back a ruddy stump."
He pulled himself closer to the wide-eyed Furfrou's ear, hissing, "I swear on your own fuckin' grave, you say anything else you know about me, I'll slit your throat like a Magikarp. Is that understood?"
Lancelot merely quivered, a slow, shaky nod his only response. Satisfied, Ibiza withdrew, turning back towards the throng, his slouch deeper than before. "Before I am interrupted again, let me give you the condensed form. Stay as long as you need, or so desire, but I do expect you to leave at some point."
As he watched everything transpire, Lancelot couldn't help but admire the silver-tongued character. He had something Lancelot had lost long ago--courage. And it seemed to Lancelot that the only bravery he had ever had was when he was prancing around with a glamorous haircut and an equally dapper costume. But Ibiza...he was naturally stunning. Lancelot felt a feverish blush crawl up his neck at the thought. But why was Ibiza concealing his beauty behind those drooping ears of his? Where did his confidence come from? Stumped, Lancelot sat upon his haunches. Hopefully, later on, he would get a chance to talk to the Glaceon alone. That way, he wouldn't have to size himself up for anyone. The last Lancelot remembered of him, he was bubbly, friendly, and content. Had that all been a ruse? (No, no. That was real. We were both in the prime of our lives then. Happiness was ours. Now, it seems like I'm not the only one who fell from grace.)
Somehow, the thought made Lancelot feel a little better, at least, temporarily.